


The Perfect Pumpkin

by BitterTongue



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Halloween
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-15 04:56:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16926912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BitterTongue/pseuds/BitterTongue
Summary: Bucky helps you pick out the perfect pumpkin





	The Perfect Pumpkin

**Author's Note:**

> Porting over from my tumblr Cordytriestowrite.

“How about that one?”  
“Nah, too bumpy.”  
“That one?”  
“Not orange enough.”  
“That one looks good!”  
“Do you see how flat it is on one side? Come in Barnes get your head out of your ass!”  
You didn’t mean to snap at your boyfriend as you strolled through the serene pumpkin patch, but you were far from calm. Halloween was here and you hadn’t carved a single jack o’ lantern! It was your favorite thing to do during the season, to scoop out the seeds and pulp, to stencil a silly or scary face to the skin, to run a sharp blade through the gourd and produce what is quintessentially Halloween.  
Except life had gotten in the way of the holiday staple, had left you with no time to buy a costume, make candied apples, or even decorate the house with your skeleton wreath and witchy doormat. Now, just hours before the sun would set and the Trick or Treaters would be roaming you were struggling to find the best pumpkin to carve up and set on your porch to welcome costumed children to collect candy from your otherwise undecorated abode.  
Bucky had insisted on coming along, his mistake. You had dragged him through rows and rows of pumpkins unsatisfied with each one he had pointed out. To him all pumpkins looked suitable but to you…well all you could see were the flaws.  
“Sorry babe.” You grumbled, “didn’t mean to snap.”  
Bucky nodded and kept silent as you continued down the row. This late in the game all that remained were the rejects, the not-good-enoughs, but you didn’t settle of any of them. You heaved a big sigh as you came upon the last bunch in the whole patch. You willed your chin to stay still as it began to wobble.  
“Hey doll.” Bucky whispered, catching a glimpse of the emotion on your face. He used his body as a shield between you and the last patch, taking your face into his large hands and running his fingers across the apples of your cheeks.  
“I’m sorry I just…” you paused to take in another deep breath knowing your voice was beginning to thicken with disparity, “I didnt do anything Halloweeny this year and this is my last shot. It has to be perfect Bucky.”  
He pulled you into a hug and you held on tightly. His gentle fingers ran through your hair, tugging lightly when they caught a wind-spun tangle. He smelled of apple cider and dirt, bringing you back to when you first entered the patch, one hand clutching your paper cup of hot cider and the other entwined with Bucky’s.  
It was getting cold as the sun sank behind the trees. You shivered despite being wrapped in his arms. Bucky laughed, taking the ends of your scarf and wrapping them around your neck effectively blocking the chill from seeping through the collar of your shirt. You smiled gratefully and pulled him down by his sweater into a sweet kiss.  
“Mommy, mommy, I want this one.” Came a juvenile voice from close by. Your lips broke as Bucky turned to face the source. A girl no older than five, you estimated, was hugging the ugliest pumpkin you had seen yet. What wasnt covered in grey lumps was green and yellow and looked as if it fell off the truck a few times before being placed precariously among the others. But still she embraced the disfigured gourd as if it was the only thing she wanted in the whole world. Bucky nudged your side with his elbow and gave you a pointed look, a look he often had to give you that said fix your face.  
You turned back with an upturn to your lips just in time to connect eyes with the girl’s mother. You exchanged polite smiles, the mother’s slightly apologetic, before the pair teetered off with their imperfect treasure.  
“Bucky!” You cried excitedly, pointing to the space the daughter had vacated. The removal of her pumpkin revealed another, Halloween orange with perfect, unblemished skin on its perfectly round body. You bent down and picked it up, not caring for the others that toppled over at the shift to their precarious pile.  
“This is the one!” You said out loud, hoisting the pumpkin up like a lion cub and presenting it to Bucky proudly. His smile was wide, he was happy for you. You cradled the gourd tenderly under your arm and reached for his hand.  
“Hold on doll.” He said before bending down and coming back up with a pumpkin of his own not bothering to inspect it. He held it like a football between his long, strong forearm and lean stomach. Your hands latched together and you began your trek out of the large field.  
-  
“Sure you dont want my help, doll?” Bucky’s cocky voice rang through your concentration. You shook your head barely looking up from the light markings you were making on the face of your pumpkin. You wanted your carving to be perfect. For the last thirty minutes Bucky had sat across from you at the dinner table, idely flipping his knife or scratching his back with it while teasing you about your ability to complete what he considered to be a simple task.  
“Just carve the bitch up. It’ll look great.”  
“It needs to be perfect Bucky.” You whined. You could feel the tension rise in the room like flood waters filling a swimming pool in the rainy season. You threw down your marker and flung yourself back in your chair crossing your arms over your chest to complete your tantrum.  
“Let me help you then. I’m an expert.” With a wink and a flourish Bucky turned around his pumpkin, presenting the face he had carved within five minutes of sitting down. It was perfect. The triangle eyes even and sitting just the right distance from the smaller triangle nose. The mouth, a crooked trio of teeth, was wide and silly. While the pumpkin itself was squashed and unsymetrical, its smiling face was crafted as beautifully as The Statue of David.  
“How the fuck Bucky?” You cried in disbelief.  
“What can I say I’m good with a knife.” He said airily, as if it wasnt a big deal, but the smirk on his face, surrounded by a dark, stubbly, five o'clock shadow told you he knew how big of a deal it was to you.  
“Fine,” you relented, “help me. But I swear Bucky if you fuck up this perfect pumpkin.”  
“I won’t babydoll I promise.” He swore, rising from his seat to stand behind yours. He bent down and rested his chin on your shoulder.  
His knife came into view past his brown locks mingling with yours where you faces brushed. It was long and wide and so unlike the steak knife you had pulled from the kitchen knife block. How did he maintain crontrol of each cut into the supple flesh of the pumpkin with a knife that big?  
“Take this.” He murmured and you could smell the beer on his breath, the beer he finished while you were still figuring out the dimensions of your pumpkin’s face. You gripped the handle in your dominant hand and Bucky’s larger hand closed around yours. He guided the tip of the knife to the pumpkin.  
“What kind of face do you want?”  
“Classic scary.” You replied, then watched with bated breath as Bucky moved your hands forward and pierced the skin.  
You watched in awe as Bucky worked, your hand barely an active participant in the artistry. Just like his the eyes, the nose, the mouth, all came together perfectly. Bucky rested the knife and your hand gently next to the large bowl of pumpkin guts when he was finished.  
“What do you think?” He asked, placing a quick kiss to your temple. You released the knife and turned to gather his scruffy cheeks into your hands and squeeze. You giggled at his smooshed lips and the severe line in his already cleft chin.  
“Its perfect. The perfect pumpkin.”  
He smiled and pulled your hands away, holding them tightly. He pressed his lips to yours, plush and pliant with the faint taste of beer and you responded with the same loving enthusiasm.  
“You’re my perfect pumpkin.” Bucky mumbled against your lips causing you both to chuckle, resorting to eskimo kisses when your smiles wouldn’t falter.  
Ding dong  
The doorbell, the first of the Trick or Treaters. Your faces broke apart and you stood, grabbing your freshly carved pumpkin, candles, and a lighter. Bucky held his own pumpkin in one hand and a bowl of candy in the other.  
“Happy Halloween Bucky.” You said, and it finally felt like Halloween to you.  
“Happy Halloween my perfect pumpkin. Now let’s go trick some treaters.”  
You laughed as Bucky raced past you to open the door before you could argue what was apparently your new pet name. Instead you resecured your pumpkin under your arm and joined Bucky at the door, ready for the night of Trick or Treaters between horror movies and falling asleep on the couch.  
A perfect Halloween.


End file.
